


Traces

by MaxWrite



Series: Kink Bingo 2011-2012 [1]
Category: Fringe
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, F/M, Not Canon Compliant, Writing on Skin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-22
Updated: 2011-07-22
Packaged: 2017-10-21 15:48:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxWrite/pseuds/MaxWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People fall out of the world sometimes. But they always leave traces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Traces

**Author's Note:**

> **Spoilers:** 3rd season finale
> 
> Written for [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**kink_bingo**](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/). Kink: "writing on the body". The summary is a quote from _Doctor Who_ , but this is not a crossover. The quote just fit the fic so perfectly, I had to use it. Thank you to my darling [insaneboingo](http://insaneboingo.livejournal.com) for the plot bunny. ♥

It was easy enough to locate Elizabeth Bishop. The difficult part was finding the nerve to contact her. Because the fact was, Astrid had no business whatsoever contacting Walter's ex-wife.

Astrid was just curious as to _why_. What reasons did Elizabeth have for helping Olivia get Walter released from St. Claire's? Yes, Olivia had desperately needed Walter's help at the time, but from what little Astrid knew for sure, Elizabeth had been through hell with Walter near the end of their marriage. Saving a man's life was a pretty good reason to let Walter back out into society, sure, but only temporarily. What did Elizabeth care about The Pattern, what did she know about universes collapsing in on themselves? She had gone on with her life long ago; Walter's work no longer concerned her.

Well, it would concern everybody if their universe did actually implode, but Elizabeth didn't know that yet. There was a reason Walter hadn't been shipped back to St. Claire's when his initial assignment had concluded, and only Elizabeth knew what that reason was.

Astrid had her own theories, but nothing she could share with anyone. No one even knew she was on this little quest. She deleted Elizabeth's information from her computer screen as Olivia wandered near. Olivia was on her phone, talking to Agent Broyles about the current case, a deep frown line etched between her brows, her free hand waving about. Walter was safely off in a corner, doing research of his own and nibbling on a lemon tart. He'd been on a baked-goods kick lately. He seemed to prefer things with fruit. Last week, all his snacks had consisted of banana bread and muffins. The week before: pineapple cake and cupcakes.

Astrid stared. Sometimes it was odd seeing Walter by himself, but only for a moment, like a flash of deja vu that was there one second and gone the next. The feeling dissipated in seconds, but the memory of the feeling remained. It was strange, thinking of something that for a moment felt so familiar but then became utterly inconsequential.

That was how it was, how it had been for nearly a month now. One minute, everything was fine; the next Astrid would be certain something was missing from the world, something that had been there all along; the next, the feeling would be gone, but it always left its imprint on her mind. The imprints were adding up, growing, weighing more and more heavily on her with each incident. And now … well, now the imprint had a name. And even a bit of a face.

Afraid the name would flit off into the recesses of her brain, she grabbed a pen and quickly scrawled it across her left palm. And sure enough, a mere second later the warm familiarity she felt towards that name disappeared. But the name was still there, clear as day in blue ink on her skin.

She was beginning to wonder if she'd made up this mystery person, but she didn't think so. He felt real (at least for the few seconds at a time that he felt familiar to her), as real as Walter or Olivia. In fact, it felt as though they should know him too, but neither of them had been showing signs of missing someone. Well, Walter had his moments, but those could be anything.

But Elizabeth, she might know. Astrid almost couldn't blame Walter for not knowing; his mind was iffy on his best days. But Elizabeth still had all her faculties and the name was connected to her too somehow. Maybe that was it, maybe the missing someone was the reason Walter had been allowed to stay.

"I've gotta go meet Broyles down at the crime scene," Olivia said as she put her phone away.

"Oh! If it isn't too much trouble, could you pick me up some plantain chips from the health food store," said Walter. "I think I'll try the banana family again. Neither pineapple, nor lemon have proved very fruitful."

Walter seemed to miss his own pun, and if Olivia had caught it, the recognition got lost in her general confusion at everything else Walter had just said. She stood there for a moment looking bewildered. All Astrid could do was give her a shrug and a smile.

"Okay," said Olivia. "I can do that. I'll see you guys."

At that, she gave Astrid a nod, then spun around and went for the lab's exit. She was a lone figure in black, and even when she was surrounded by people, she seemed … solitary. More than that; it was like there was a space just off to her right, a space that should be occupied, a space that Astrid could actually see, or sense as it were, if she squinted or cocked her head just so. Just like she could with Walter sometimes. The world had become a jigsaw puzzle with a missing piece. And it was driving Astrid up the wall.

And then _poof_ , the feeling was gone.

Astrid glanced down at her palm again, just to make sure she hadn't hallucinated writing the name down. No, it was still there, safe and sound.

She looked over at Walter then. He was right there, she could just walk over and ask him. She wasn't terribly optimistic about him knowing what the heck she was talking about, but how odd would it be for a perfect stranger to call Elizabeth out of the blue one day and begin asking questions about a person who didn't even exist? With a resolute nod, Astrid stood.

"Walter," she said as she approached.

"Eh?" Walter responded without looking up from the ancient manuscript he was hunched over. Astrid came to stand at his side.

"Walter, what are you doing here?"

"Reading this manuscript." He finally looked over at her, took a moment to think and then finally decided he understood what she was asking. "Am I getting crumbs everywhere? I didn't mean to."

"No, I mean here at all, with us, working with Fringe Division."

Walter faltered for a moment. "They need me."

"Yes, I know. But why you specifically?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You're asking me questions you already know the answers to."

"I'm trying to make a point. Why you, Walter?"

"Because of my research. My experiments. Because of the coming war."

"A war with the other side."

"That is correct."

"A war that began because …?"

Walter sighed, signs of frustration beginning to show, but then he had another nibble of lemon tart and seemed to relax. "Because the barrier between our worlds was breached, which weakened that barrier, causing rips in the fabric of space throughout our world and theirs. Those rips will continue to degrade, and the people over there, believing that we are to blame, will seek to destroy us."

"And what caused the first rip, Walter?"

"I did. When I made the first trip over there."

"Why? Why did you go?"

"Well, because … because I … Wait, I know this. It's _right there_."

"On the tip of your tongue. Just at the edge of your mind."

"Well, yes, dear, but for me most things are."

Astrid shook her head. "No, this is different. This isn't just you. It's happening to me too."

"What is?"

"There's a piece of the story missing. Of your story. You wouldn't have gone if you hadn't had a really good reason, it was too dangerous. You must have known the risks, but you did it anyway. _Why_?"

Sadness crept into Walter's eyes. "My dear, it is hardly beyond the realm of possibility that I did it simply because I could." And with that, he turned away and hunched over his manuscript again.

Astrid shook her head. "I don't believe that. Not for a second. I won't say you haven't done questionable things, but you always have a reason beyond simple curiosity. Given the dangers of crossing over, given what you knew could happen, and what _has_ happened … No, I _know_ , Walter. I know you had a reason. I know it was something more important than your work, bigger than science. And somewhere deep down, you know it too."

He glanced at her again, looking sheepish and unsure.

"Does it have a name, Walter?" she asked. "Does a name ever come to mind, one that seems familiar one second and then not the next?"

"Perhaps," he replied uncertainly. "But I can't recall it now."

"Does he have a face?"

He looked at her in surprise. "He?"

She hesitated, then finally replied, "Yeah, he. Maybe I'm just making all this up in my head, but ... I think someone's missing. Not just like a missing person type of missing, but actually, literally just … gone. Plucked out of the world. And I don't know how he factors into your past, but I know that he does. Somehow. He's the answer. He's the reason. He's why you went over there. He's why you're here at all."

Walter shook his head. "But no, he's … he's just a dream. _My_ dream. You couldn't possibly have known ... Did I mention him to you?"

"You've dreamed about him?"

"Well, I … once or twice, perhaps."

"What did he look like?"

"Oh, I don't know. Dark hair, blue eyes, I think. Handsome." A smile flickered across Walter's face and it looked almost prideful. " _Quite_ the handsome devil."

Astrid smiled too and pulled a stool up next to his. "Go on. Tell me about him. Remember him."

"Well, it's interesting, actually, because he's always an adult when I dream of him. Thirty maybe. But the clearest waking memories I have of him are from when he was a child; ten, maybe eleven." Walter shrugged. "I didn't think he was real. I thought … well, you know how cluttered it can get up here." He tapped at his temple, then he looked at her sternly. "But you say that you remember him too?"

She nodded. "I think he's real, Walter. I think something's happened. I don't know, maybe he exists over there but not here. Can you share consciousness with your double? The you over there? Is that possible?"

"Perhaps. So, it isn't just me, then." He said this mainly to himself and his smile returned, just a little. He looked at her again. "It's rather nice, isn't it? Sharing hallucinations."

She grinned, reached out and touched his hand. "I thought I was going crazy," she said in a secretive whisper.

"Oh, we haven't ruled that out just yet."

"True."

They giggled together and he sandwiched her hand between both of his. It was then that she remembered what was written on the very hand he was holding. She sobered and asked, "So, about the name; do you think you can remember it now?"

He sighed as he glanced toward the ceiling, closed his eyes and scrunched up his face in concentration. He took one hand away from her, reached out with it tentatively, as though selecting something he wasn't sure about off a shelf. His index finger moved from one imaginary item to the next, then his hand stopped and all of his fingers reached out. It was then that he reopened his eyes and looked over at her as though just remembering she was there. He cleared his throat and lowered his hand.

"Perhaps, yes," he said.

She smiled, her eyes lighting up. "What is it?"

"I'm not sure I should say it. It's as if ... I'm not supposed to remember -" He paused, then, his face relaxing and his shoulders slumping. "And it's gone again. I had it just now, but … no, it's gone." He looked apologetically at her. "That happens a lot."

She patted his hand. "It's okay. It'll come back."

"He liked custard," he suddenly said. "When he was boy. I remember that."

"Could he have been part of the Cortexiphan trials?"

"Maybe. But he feels different to me, he feels like something more than that."

"Maybe … he was your son."

That had to be it. Why else would Astrid also associate him with Elizabeth? She was afraid Walter would balk at the very idea, but instead he looked at her in mild surprise, as though shocked at how much sense her suggestion made.

"Custard," he repeated.

"You said that already."

"No, custard is … _yellow_. Custard is yellow!"

"Yeah, so what?"

"Don't you see? That's what I've been trying to get at all this time. The lemon, the pineapple, the banana; I couldn't remember custard, so my mind kept grabbing onto the closest food items it could think of."

Astrid arched an eyebrow. "And it grabbed onto pineapple and lemon?"

"Well, they _are_ both yellow," Walter said sheepishly.

"So, hang on, you've been trying to remember custard all this time? How long has this been going on?"

"Erm … almost a month now, I believe."

"Curiouser and curiouser," Astrid said to herself. The fact that it had been nearly a month since they'd attempted, and failed, to activate the mysterious machine at the Liberty Island facility was not lost on her. She was no longer certain of what exactly had happened that day.

"What was that, dear?" Walter asked.

"As usual, Walter, your brain has been trying to tell you something in the most unusual way."

"No surprises there. Now, let's see, custard … custard … I'm trying to remember …" Suddenly his face lit up and he began casting about frantically.

"Walter, what is it?"

But Walter didn't answer. Instead he lunged forward to grab a stray ballpoint pen from the opposite end of his work station. He yanked the cap off with his teeth as he settled back down on his stool, then without a word he grabbed Astrid's right hand and began writing on her palm.

"What are you doing? That tickles," she giggled, but she made the effort to keep still for him. Whatever he was doing, it seemed important. He finished writing a moment later and stared at her palm as he slowly took the pen cap from his mouth.

She had a look at her hand and smiled. Even upside down and in Walter's terrible handwriting, she could tell what it said.

He looked at her shyly. "I do apologize. There doesn't seem to be any paper in the immediate vicinity aside from the manuscript."

She thought she should probably be annoyed that writing on her was a less objectionable option than writing on the manuscript, but instead decided to take it as one of Walter's weird compliments. She shook her head and gave him a soft smile to tell him it was okay. She then raised her left palm and showed him the name she'd written there earlier. His mouth dropped open as he stared at it.

"Peter," he said, his voice so small he sounded almost weepy. Something about hearing him say it, hearing that voice say the name aloud, made the ghost living in Astrid's head more solid, more real, for just a moment. A face flickered, the shape of a man blinked in and then out again.

"Say it again," she gently urged.

Walter canted his head, still staring at her palm, mesmerized. "Peter." He slowly reached for it, touched the ink on her skin, moved his fingertip from one end of the name to the other. He then took hold of both her hands and held on, met her eyes again and gave her a teary smile. "I remember him."

The look in his eyes was one of such quiet and grateful relief, she could have wept a little herself. In that moment, he looked less burdened, and as he got control of his emotions, he began to look the way he did when he was working on a case and pieces began falling into place in his mind.

He leaned in close and said in an excited whisper, "Come, my dear! We have work to do." He squeezed her hands, then released them and turned back to his work station, this time going for the computer. He began rattling off instructions, and Astrid, with a little skip in her step, was off to grab the blueprints for the machine before Walter had even made the request.

END


End file.
